Hector
by woo-fish
Summary: “There will come a point in your life when you must compromise Hector. Where it is the only way you can move forward.” Some secrets are never gleefully accepted...ADMM


New spin on an old thing, in particular the premise of Albus and Minerva keeping their relationship and their children secret from everyone, including their kids. Please be warned, this is uber-angst with some coarse language. It's not always fluff and games you know…

**Disclaimer:** Is there even a need for disclaimers? Nothin's mine!

**'Hector'**

_'I__ndifference and neglect _

_often__ do much more damage_

_than__ outright dislike…'_

_- ALBUS DUMBLEDORE; 'Harry Potter and the Order of the __Phoenix_

Through the closed doors the angry voices beyond filtered past it. Even if a Silencing charm was placed upon the door, he doubted if it was enough to stop the explosive argument between mother and son from being overheard.

"…then what in Merlin's name are we to him? His side family?!"

SLAP

_"How dare you say that, you thoughtless boy!_ Your father loves us all!" came the shrieking voice of his wife.

For a time the young man was silent after his mother struck him. "You're right, we aren't his side family. We aren't even his. At least men with side families have the balls to claim them as theirs."

There was no answer from Minerva's part.

"I can't believe this Mum. You see the world in black or white, never in shades of grey. Whatever task you set yourself to do, it's always all or nothing. _How could you settle for something that's in between?"_

Weariness and sorrow was evident in Minerva's words. "There will come a point in your life when you must compromise Hector. Where it is the only way you can move forward."

"Since I'm yet to experience that point in my life, I can't understand what you're saying. And even if I did, I wouldn't accept it as an answer especially since what you compromise is your _family."_

Again, no answer from Minerva's part.

"He doesn't even care for us at all, does he?" asked the young man in a heartbreaking way.

Enough. He had to stop this. He had anticipated a backlash against him but this…this incensed fury at Minerva was not what he expected. He strode into the room.

Minerva sat on a divan, her face stricken and hand over her heaving chest. She was in shock from the combination of stress from the disclosure of the real identity of her children's father to her eldest and his unreceptive response. Furthermore, _she had struck their child._ Both he and Minerva did not believe in disciplining a child with force; it was barbaric and did not teach the child anything but fear. Having lived in a time when the slightest disrespect was punished with a stroke of a cane, he did not wish the same experience upon his own children. In his infinite experience children respond better to reason: the acknowledgement of the offence, the understanding that there are consequences to their actions and trust that the child will try not to do it again. It was the technique used upon children under their care in their line of work and thus applied to their own children.

He looked to the young man standing over her. At only sixteen years old, Hector Brogan McGonagall already stood at an impressive 6'4''. His body was lean and muscular due to the many hard years spent in brawls and duels. The intense training for the brutal contact sport of rugby union, his sport of choice, also added to his physique. He possessed an incredibly short-temper and, heated argument or not, Hector had a perpetual air of aggression around him. His blue eyes were livid and bright from tears but his face remained defiant; there was a red mark across his left cheek where Minerva's right hand slapped him.

"You have got some nerve to look me in the eye," was the greeting his son gave him. He clenched his jaw and strode to Minerva's side, placing a comforting hand upon her bowed shoulders.

"Hector, we acknowledge that our decision was objectionable and believe me my dear boy it was also a painful one to make." Albus's tone became soft and almost ominous. "But never, _never,_ question my regard for you all."

"Yes and a fat lot of good your regard did for us all these years," spat Hector bitterly at his father. "Tell me, who was it that comforted Mum whenever the flaming Daily Prophet or Witches Weekly ran rumors about her and the possible candidates who could have sired her bastard children? Who was it that practically saw to Deirdre's upbringing because Mum was too busy with her career and because there was no one else? And who was it that had to be the man of the house by the time he was five? Tell me who it was because he sure as hell wasn't _you._"

The stunned silence that followed was only broken by the soft sobs of a crying woman.

"All these years I've been doing your job and you just stood nearby, watching it all. And now you want to step in and claim what isn't yours."

Minerva made an uncharacteristic motion: she pleaded through her tears. "Hector, please…"

"No Mum! I refuse to acknowledge that man as my father! He hasn't earned it! If anything that title should go to Uncle Moody or Armando Dippet. Men who deserve it because they tried to act out the role!"

He stood mute in the face of his son's outrage and resentment, partly out of amazement at the young man's obviously pent up vehemence but mostly out of the jumble of the emotions of grief, guilt and burning shame.

Albus admitted it to himself: he had grown complacent. At that time of his life, things were working accordingly to the plan formed in his mind. First and foremost, he needed to keep his family safe from reprisals from old foes. He reasoned that his decision to detach himself from them was the only way to do just that. After all walls could be smashed down, spells could be shattered and secrets told. Albus was not willing to take the any of those risks.

Next, he declined the standing of Ministry of Magic and took on the title of Headmaster of Hogwarts; this way his position allowed him to guide and teach the youth of wizarding Britain and in time his children. His relationship with Minerva was kept discreet; she was still by his side although never on equal footing as a husband and wife should. And loathed he was to confess it, he was content with the knowledge that his children were secure, if being semi-reared by others and unaware of their parentage. He was content with remaining a distant yet ever present figure in their lives.

The subject of the children's conception and visibly absent father (or fathers as some tongues wagged) had been in the rumor mill for years and yet it was his son who unfairly bore the brunt of these vile gossips. The wizarding world were less forgiving upon Hector than his sister, possibly because he was the first born of Minerva's dubious pregnancies or perhaps because he was a boy. Sweet and cheerful Deirdre never had to worry about being picked on at school, or being involved in fights or being spoken about snidely wherever she went. Albus's heart still twinged whenever he thought about the time when Dolores Umbridge informed his son that he had 'bad blood'. Hector was only five years-old.

In addition to having to grow up to the vile slanders against his mother and himself, the traditional role a man would undertake as guardian of his family was forced upon poor Hector. He even became the central paternal figure in his sister's life. Such responsibilities were obviously too much for child to manage, yet the McGonagall resilience and fierce determination saw him through. Any assistance offered, even Albus's, would be politely but sternly turned down. The result was terrifying and tragic; his son had grown into an unhappy and hostile young man, fixated on being responsible to the point of being somber, conditioned to be tough and thus unable to admit to any weakness.

_You selfish old fool._

He had exchanged his child's happiness for his.

Albus could only gaze helplessly into Hector's eyes, which were just a lighter shade of blue than his own. It was almost as if he were staring into a mirror; he understood now why people were intimidated with his glare.

"You know what I think?" snarled his son, "I think you are just a tired old man who's been inside his castle for too long he's lost sight of whatever he was meant to be protecting. If ever you had anything to protect."

_Oh. That cut deep, my boy._

Intaking a hiss of breath, he accepted the sting of truth in the accusation and raising his hands up with his palms facing out in a placating manner, Albus said, "Hector, please understand that I did this to protect you--"

"That's bullshit!" bellowed back the young man. He swept his arms wide. Minerva couldn't help but tense and hold back a gasp. As agitated as he was, Hector would probably turn on his father at any moment. "A Fidelius charm could easily offer constant protection but you didn't even try! I mean, what is this?! You can safeguard the entire Wizarding world but not us?!"

It was no use. He could not explain himself to Hector, not as they both were now. He would give the boy time to settle as well as give himself time to regain his composure. He turned away from them both and faced the window, looking out into the twilight. Willing the tension out of his balled fists, he clasped them behind his back. He spoke in a commanding tone. "We will speak of this at later when you have curbed your temper. Until then leave this house and sort yourself out. You may return when you are ready to conduct yourself in a mature and collected manner."

"Is that that you're first words as head of this family? Fuck you. I refuse your authority. You have none over me." The last words were spoken out of disgust. "You two really deserve each other, you know that?"

The door flung open and was slammed shut with such a force the entire upper floor of their home shook. Brisk, angry footsteps faded away. He leaned heavily against the sill, a trembling hand covering his face.

Little Deirdre was not aware of the conflict between her brother and parents. Hector, ever devoted to his sister, made sure beforehand that she tucked away in her noise warded room and preoccupied with her pet puffskeins and magical dolls.

"Hey Tory? I'm reeeaally sorry but my puffskein ate your rugby boots…Tory? Torrryyyy!!! Where're you going? Can I come too? But why not?! I'll tell Mum!"

The sound of running feet was heard before a lively girl of nine with hair the color of burnished copper burst into the room.

"Muuum!! Hector's being meeeaan!!! He's not--" She stopped aghast when she took in the sight before her and ran straight for her distraught mother. Minerva immediately enfolded her in a tight hug and rocked her gently as she wept. "Mum? Why are you crying Mama?" Scowling, Deirdre turned to him, the only other person in the room and began her own accusations. "Professor Dumbledore, why did you make her cry? What did you do?"

"Albus?" He turned to his left. A distressed Minerva stood next to him and yet there was also another, younger Minerva seated upon the settee, crying disconsolately as she clutched her youngest against her. Albus blinked away the tears in his eyes and returned to look at his past self who remained leaning against the window sill, staring out at a dying sun.

"Come along Albus, it's time to go…" her voice shaking, present Minerva pulled him out of his Pensieve.

**AN:** Telling five year-olds they are worthless seems like a hobby Dolores 'Umbitch' would take part in. Maybe she's related to Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge.


End file.
